Best Laid Plans
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: It was funny how all their plans went up in smoke the moment they actually tried to put them into action. Today's hunt was no exception. *Hurt!Sam, BigBrother!Dean*
1. Such a Shame

_**Author's Note: **__The first line popped into my mind the other day and I just couldn't get this plot bunny out of my mind. Set season one. This won't be very long—two chapters maybe? Anyways, please enjoy!_

* * *

It was funny how their best-laid plans always went up in smoke somehow. It seemed that the more they planned, the more their plans would fall to the wayside when they actually tried to put them in motion. Then, the hunts where they went in blind were always the ones that ended up going perfectly—the ones where they were able to be done before midnight and then watch a cheesy movie on a crappy TV and just be content with one another. They could just be two brothers, instead of hunters on the search for their missing father.

This was not one of those times.

No, this hunt they had conducted research for what seemed like hours. They had pulled every piece of information they had gleaned from interviews and autopsies to formulate the perfect plan—the foolproof plan, the ultimate plan, the plan to end all plans.

And wouldn't you know it, the plan ended up being discarded once they realized that the vengeful spirit was much more powerful than they had anticipated. A fact that was highlighted when Sam shot the ghost with a salt round, only for it to have no effect and have the ghost turn the bullet around and send it back at him. The bullet had embedded itself in his arm and Dean had managed to drag him to another empty apartment, all the while avoiding the spirit's attacks.

"There has to be some other way!" Dean exclaimed, anger and fury rushing through his veins. Sam sat before him, cradling his sluggishly bleeding arm as he lay against the small wall of the apartment. He was tired, drained and in pain, but he forced his dull eyes to remain open despite how much he just wanted to succumb to the peaceful darkness. Forcing his mind to focus, he surveyed the small apartment they had commandeered. A sturdy wooden desk barricaded the door and salt was carefully sprinkled on the window ledges. Nearly every protective sigil that both boys knew had been scribbled on the walls in faded black ink. A blessed rosary was in his good hand and he squeezed it for slight reassurance that he was protected from the monster they had been hunting. He frowned as he watched his brother punch a wall, breaking a part of it off.

How had it come to this?

"Dean," Sam started again, trying to clear the haze out of his mind and focus on his big brother who was near the verge of panic. His older brother seemingly ignored him, pacing the length of the room. "Dean." The oldest Winchester met his gaze and Sam mustered up the most reassuring smile he had in him. "Go."

"No fucking way, Sam!" His older brother's voice was raw, chock full of desperation. Sam could understand—if the roles were reversed, he would've never entertained the thought of leaving his bleeding brother behind—but regardless, they were both dead if they didn't get out of their little safe house and kill the thing that was hunting them.

"You won't take long," He tried to reassure Dean. "30 minutes tops—just enough time to get Bobby and come back with the spell. He's on his way to meet you, Dean. You have to go."

"No."

"Dean—"

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair. "Just shut up!"

"I can hold on for 30 minutes, Dean."

"I'm not leaving you with that bitch right outside the door!" He snapped, practically growling.

"You don't have a choice," Sam mumbled, his voice drowsy as the blood loss began to take its toll. "I would just slow you down if I went with you. The spirit would kill us both. You can get out, Dean. You _need_ to get out."

"Sammy," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Sam could see the logic winning over his protective brother. Finally, Dean faced him with resolve in his eyes, his mind clearly made up. "I will be right back."

"I'll be here." Sam promised, trying to assure Dean that he would be okay. The two brothers shared a glance that spoke volumes between them with Dean swearing that he would be back with help as soon as possible, and Sam promising to stay alive until medical aid could arrive. Seemingly satisfied with his little brother's unspoken vow, he left the room—their little fortress—and Sam allowed himself to drop the façade that he had put up for his older brother. He was bleeding out and barely holding on to consciousness—not two reassuring signs of things to come. Still, he had to hang in there.

If not for his own sake, then for Dean's.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Poor Sam. I enjoy hurting him too much . . . Anyways, next chapter we'll see if Dean can make it back to Sam in time! Please review if you have time! _


	2. Make You Proud

_**Author's Note: **__Wow, this little story got a lot more love than I thought it would . . . Thank you all for the kind words! Please enjoy chapter 2!_

* * *

When Sam had been 14, he had been injured on a hunt. A ghost had thrown him out a window and glass had been embedded in his side and sliced him up badly. Dean had been with him and the two boys had to hold their own until their father had been able to take care of the spirit. For those five minutes, Sam watched as blood slowly poured out him. He had been fascinated by the way it gracefully left his body, despite Dean's best efforts to stop it. His older brother had panicked that night and had resorted to his coping mechanism—endless chatter.

"I remember when you were seven," Dean had begun. "You wanted to go to the zoo that was down the street from the motel we were staying at and Dad told you no. You threw the biggest fit." His brother's voice gave Sam something to hold onto that night—a life preserver in the middle of a raging sea. If Dean had remained silent, Sam was sure that he would've lost consciousness and that things would've ended up taking a turn for the worst.

But, Dean had save him that night.

Just like he was trying to save him now, leaving his brother to go get the spell to weaken the ghost.

"My name is Sam," The youngest Winchester recited, pressing hard on the wound. He flinched at the brief spike in pain, but he knew that if he lost any more blood, he'd go into shock. Dean wasn't here to keep him anchored so it was up to him to remain conscious by any means necessary. "I hunt things. To kill a ghost, you have to salt and burn its bones. If that doesn't work, you have to salt and burn anything that the ghost might be holding onto." His head was pounding and the room was spinning, but he kept talking, his voice breaking the eerie silence. He had to hold on until Dean came back. He had promised that he would.

And he wasn't about to start letting Dean down now.

"To kill a werewolf, you have to . . ."

* * *

"Bobby." Dean greeted gruffly as he spotted the older hunter's worn down pick-up in the dirt driveway of the old apartment building.

"How's Sam?" Bobby questioned quickly.

"Got shot in the arm," Dean replied, taking a look at the spell that Bobby had brought a copy of. "It's bleeding like a bitch."

"Shit." The older hunter cursed and Dean nodded his head in agreement because this whole situation was messed up. His baby brother was bleeding inside and Dean couldn't do anything to help him until the stupid ghost went up in flames.

"This it?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied. "That'll weaken it enough that you can take care of it."

"Good, good." Dean muttered, more pre-occupied with the absence of his little brother than the actual ghost. "You got the stuff for this?"

"In the back of the truck."

"Then, let's finish this."

The two hunters got to work.

* * *

"My name is Sam," He slurred, sleepiness enveloping him. "I hunt things with my brother." God, he was so tired. He was cold too. Surely sleeping just a bit wouldn't be so bad? Dean would never have to know about it— "No." He forced his eyes open and pressed down harder on the wound, though he knew that he was too weak to actually keep the blood from flowing anymore. He had to stay awake—he had promised Dean! "My name is Sam." He could do this, he could hold on. All he had to do was focus on the words and not the tiredness. "My name is Sam."

_You can't hide in there forever._

The ghostly voice echoed in the room and a brief surge of adrenaline coursed through his system. Though the wards were still up and the salt was still in place, there was still a ghost outside the door, waiting for him to give up.

"I don't need to." Sam retorted.

_Right, you think your brother can stop me? I doubt it._

"You don't know, Dean."

_If he comes back in this building, I will kill him. I will tear him limb from limb until all that remains of him is a bloodstain on the floor. Give yourself up and I'll spare him. _

"No." Sam ground out. He knew Dean was stronger than this ghost and Dean would be able to stop it. He had to trust in his big brother. He had to believe that his brother would come and save him, just like he had done when they had been little. A cold gust of air blew through the doors and the salt line moved a bit. Sam held his breath, but to his relief, the line still remained.

_You will die._

"Not because of you." Sam assured the spirit and the room went silent once more. He shivered and glanced down to see that a blood pool had formed around him. Sam forced his eyes to look away, but the damage had been done. Seeing the blood pool had seemingly reminded his body of how little blood he had left and the exhaustion hit him once more. "N-no." He had to hold on. Just a little bit longer, just a few more minutes. Dean would be furious if he fell asleep now! "D'n." He felt like he was drowning and darkness was smothering him. As the world around him faded to black, he thought he heard someone call his name.

Must've been his imagination.

* * *

Spell performed, Dean faced the building once more, ready to go and kill the spirit and get his brother to safety and get him fixed up. He glanced at Bobby who held up his own gun and Dean nodded. The two headed towards the front door and cautiously, Dean opened it and the two stepped inside.

_You shouldn't have come back. _

Instantly, Bobby was thrown against a wall and Dean quickly fired off a salt round. The spirit smirked as she tried to re-direct it, but found that she could not. She blinked out of existence, giving Dean time to help Bobby back up.

"I'm fine, ya idjit!" He growled. "Get Sam. I'll hold her off!"

_I don't know what you've done, but you will pay dearly for shooting me. _

As gunshots rang out behind him, Dean sprinted up the stairs and back to the room where he had stashed Sam.

"Sam!" He called as he kicked in the door, only to find his brother slumped over, unconscious. "Shit! Sam, Sammy!" He rushed to his brother's side and pulled him up, checking for a pulse. He found one—albeit a very faint one—and then focused on getting Sam awake. He could move his brother on his own, but it would take more time than they had. That wasn't a chance Dean was willing to take with the spirit still moving about.

_You can't win._

The ghost appeared at the threshold of the guarded apartment and she regarded Dean coldly. Cursing, Dean stepped in front of Sam, ready to serve as the last line of defense if needed. It was clear that he needed to figure out how to get rid of the ghost first if he even hoped to get Sam out of here alive. Sam had determined that the spirit's body had been cremated which meant that there had to be something she was holding onto, but what?

_Your brother will die here. As will you and your friend._

"Go to hell, bitch." Dean told her with a smirk and she frowned, her eyes murderous.

_You think you're so funny, yet you're hiding in that stupid room. Only a coward would do such a thing._

There! A necklace was missing from her neck, though both Sam and Dean had seen the necklace in all of her pictures. Interviews with her family made them aware that the necklace had been a gift from her father before he had died when she was 10. Get rid of the necklace, get rid of the ghost. The question was, where was it?

_I'm getting bored. If you refuse to come out, I'll have to go finish your friend downstairs._

Dean's blood boiled, but he forced his expression to remain neutral as he mentally planned out a route to her apartment which down the hall on the left. He just had to get there and burn the necklace and hope that the ghost didn't kill him.

"I'll be right back, Sammy," He promised his unconscious brother, smiling softly even though he knew that his brother couldn't hear him. "Here goes nothing." He shot the ghost and as soon as she flickered out of existence, he made a run for it.

He ran, for all their lives depended on it.

He wouldn't let them down.

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_** Author's Note: **__Run, Dean, run! Anyways, if you have a second, I'd love to hear what you thought. Please review! _


	3. Checking Out

_** Author's Note: **__This story will be four chapters, I have decided. So, here's the second to last chapter. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Blood—so much blood.

Sam felt like he was drowning in it. What was he even doing here? Why couldn't he remember? Where was Dean? He had to find Dean—his older brother would know. Weakly, the youngest Winchester forced his eyes to open and tried to push himself up. A flash of pain caused his vision to white out and for him to hiss in pain.

"D'n?" Sam tried, voice frail and weak. He could see the red liquid pooling around him, as if it was drawn to him. Why couldn't he remember what had happened to him?

"Sam?" A familiar voice called to him. "Shit."

"Bobby?" Sam slurred as the gruff hunter came into focus. He was rewarded with Bobby's weak smile and Sam idly wondered why the older hunter appeared to be so frightened.

"Sam, you listen to me," Bobby began, tone indicating he was giving an order. "You keep your eyes open and on me, okay? You don't get to sleep now, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir." Sam breathed, fighting a losing battle with his eyelids. It would be so easy to just fall into the darkness—it was so tempting.

"Sam!" A sharp pain jolted him awake. Bobby was pressing down on his arm with a cloth and it hurt like hell. "Sorry son, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? When Dean gets back, we'll get you out of here." Dean was gone? Where was he? For some reason, Sam couldn't bring himself to care. He was cold and exhausted and Bobby was annoying the hell out of him. Surely, just a few minutes of sleep would be okay?

Bobby's frantic voice echoed around him as he fell into the void.

* * *

Dean sprinted like there was no tomorrow—which, given this spirit's violent tendencies, that might very well be the case if she got her way.

For her part, the vengeful spirit wasn't making Dean's job easy. Objects were tossed at him. Glass cut his hand and a pain flared in his side, but still he ran. Sam's life depended on it. When he finally reached the apartment and got his hands on the necklace, all was suddenly silent. Quickly, Dean salted the offending object.

_Why are you doing this to me? _

Her voice was quiet and full of wonder. Was this what happened when you became a vengeful spirit—you ended up not being able to tell right from wrong? Her gaze refused to leave his and Dean felt compelled to give her an answer.

"You killed people."

_They deserved it._

"And you hurt my brother." He added sharply, because at the end of the day, that was what really ticked him off. No one hurt his little brother and got away with it—no one.

_He's evil._

"What?" Dean nearly dropped the lighter he held in his hand. The spirit tilted her head to the side in confusion, almost childlike.

_You don't know? He's tainted—even I can see that. He must die. I will—_

Dean set the pendant on fire and watched as the spirit screamed as she burned, pleased at the sounds of her pain.

"Bye-bye, bitch." He cursed, but her words echoed in his head.

What had she meant by tainted?

* * *

Sam floated.

Around him, muffled voices called out, yet he couldn't bring himself to focus on them. He was so tired—too weak. It was better to just let go, to just relax. Dean would figure out what was going on—he always did. Besides, Sam couldn't really remember what was going on anyway.

_Dammit, Sam! You don't get to do this! _

He smirked. There was Dean, yelling as usual. Why was he upset though? Maybe he had figured out that it was Sam that had hidden his favorite cassette tape. It had been a joke and after all, his brother had deserved it after dunking his laptop in the shower. It had taken two weeks to get it to work properly again! His older brother was lucky that he hadn't done worse.

_You don't get to check out and leave me here alone! It's not fair, Sam! _

That took Sam off-guard. It sounded like Dean was more upset than was warranted for a missing cassette. And what did he mean about Sam leaving? Was he talking about Stanford? This was all so confusing and suddenly, the youngest Winchester didn't like floating anymore.

_ Sammy, please. Please come back. _

"Dean?" Sam called, worried now. His brother sounded broken, almost defeated. Where was the cocky attitude that Sam had come to associate with his older brother? Where was the jovial, sarcastic man that had always made things better with a joke and occasionally a "chick-flick" moment?

Something was wrong. Dean needed him and Sam wasn't about to let his brother down.

A sharp pain struck him. Crying out in pain, the next thing Sam knew, he was surfacing from the darkness.

* * *

"Dean."

That was all he needed to hear. Bobby's voice conveyed it all—the defeat, the sadness, the grief. The older hunter had knelt down by Sam's limp form and his hand was covered in blood. Bobby's eyes were misty and he stepped back, allowing Dean to be next to his brother. Placing two fingers to his neck, Dean waited.

And waited.

There was no heartbeat—Sam was dead.

"No," The eldest brother whispered, shaking his head. "No, he can't—" His voice cracked as something pricked his eyes. This wasn't happening—this couldn't be happening. His one job had been to protect Sam—_Look after Sammy_—and he had failed. The only reason he had to keep fighting everyday was gone. "Sammy."

"I tried CPR," Bobby muttered, almost like he couldn't take the silence. "But he just . . . he didn't come back."

"No." Anger flooded him, because this wasn't happening. Sam wasn't dying today—not on his watch. He grabbed his brother's still warm body and spread him out on the floor. They still had a chance—if Bobby had done CPR, there was a chance they could bring him back. It was a slim chance, but Dean was used to working on those. He started the chest compressions and Bobby instantly prepared himself, he would be ready in case Dean tired. "Dammit, Sam! You don't get to do this!"

_"Really, dude?" Sam grinned at him from the passenger seat as Dean blasted the music, beaming at his little brother. "God, you're so immature!" Dean's only response was to keep singing along and get his brother to join in during the chorus. _

"You don't get to check out and leave me here alone! It's not fair, Sam!" He shouted, continuing compressions, willing his brother to breathe.

_"Dean," Sam stood in front of him, duffel in one hand and acceptance letter in the other. "Thank you." Dean forced a smile as he watched his geeky little brother go off to college. He couldn't help but feel damn proud of him._

"Sammy, please." He pleaded, weakening. "Please come back."

"He's breathing!" Bobby exclaimed and Dean almost toppled over in relief.

"Thank God." Dean mumbled, transfixed by the familiar thudding of Sam's heartbeat. It was weak, but it meant he was alive.

They just had to get him to a hospital. Gently, both of the older hunters helped Sam up and carried him to the Impala. Calling an ambulance was out of the question as the apartment building was in such a remote area that it would take too long for help to arrive. Bobby floored it while Dean applied pressure on Sam's wound with one hand and checked his pulse with the other.

"Hang on, Sam," Dean whispered. "Just hang on."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Definitely my favorite chapter so far. Also, I'm sure that I totally got the facts on CPR wrong so please forgive me and just go along with it, please! So, next chapter will be the last one, though I may do an epilogue after that. If you have a second, please review! _


	4. Anything and Everything

_** Author's Note: **__Final chapter! Thanks so much for reading this story. I really loved hearing all the feedback and I'm so happy that this little story got so much love. Thank you so much for sticking by me! Please enjoy!_

* * *

It had been close—too damn close for Dean's comfort.

According to the doctor, Sam had flat lined once more before they had been able to stabilize him enough to remove the bullet and treat the blood loss. In the end, Sam had received countless transfusions and he was now resting in the ICU. Bobby had taken care of the paperwork—even used some legit insurance—leaving Dean to sit beside Sam's bedside. His brother appeared so pale, almost like a corpse—

"Any change?" Bobby asked softly, stepping into the room. Dean's gaze remained rooted on his sleeping brother. How had it come to this? This hunt was supposed to have been easy! They had a plan! How had it gone so sideways that it had resulted in Sam possibly not lasting it through the night?

"No." It was hard to speak, through the knot of emotion that attempted to consume him. Sam wasn't supposed to be fighting for his life. This hadn't been what Dean had wanted for him when he had gotten him from Stanford. He had just wanted his brother back by his side, but if it came at this high of a price, then it was better for him to be alone. Sure, he had missed Sam like hell, but at least at Stanford Sam had been safe.

"Doctor say anything?" Bobby pulled up a chair and sat on Sam's other side. The gruff hunter frowned slightly as he observed for himself how bad Sam's condition was.

_I'm going to sugarcoat this for you. Your brother lost too much blood tonight. I'm not sure if he'll survive the night, let alone wake up._

"Just that we have to wait and see." Dean replied shakily, forcing his voice to remain steady. He shook his head, clearing his mind of the woman's words. That doctor didn't know Sam, though. She didn't know that Sam was a fighter and came from a line of stubborn men who refused to give up and accept defeat. Sam had to be okay—if he died . . . what would there be left to fight for? Their father was still MIA and the older Winchester brother doubted that John would even deign to grace his dying son with his presence.

"He'll pull through," Bobby muttered, almost as if to reassure himself, rather than Dean. "Sam's a strong kid."

"He lost so much blood, Bobby." Dean mumbled, mind racing back to when he had come across Sam's limp form. Blood had practically redecorated the carpet. Sam had already died twice tonight; maybe the third time would finally make it stick—

"Did he ever tell you about when he was hospitalized when he was at Stanford?" Bobby began almost conversationally.

"What?" Dean questioned, unsure of what he had just heard. Sam had never been sick while he was at Stanford! Dean had made sure when he had visited—except for those two years where they weren't speaking. Dean hadn't checked in on Sam at all during that time because he'd been too busy hunting and keeping Dad alive while Sam had been too busy trying to live his apple-pie life. "Sam never told me—"

"He didn't want you to know," Bobby replied. "The only reason I found out was because I was the only person listed on his emergency card." Bobby sighed and Dean anxiously waited to hear the rest of this story.

"And?" He prompted.

"He looked like a lot like this," The older hunter said with a sigh. "And it was pretty touch and go, but Sam pulled through." He smiled softly at Dean, reassuring the concerned older brother. "Just like he'll make it through this."

"What happened to him?"

"Honestly? I never got the full story," He answered with a shrug. "I think he was hunting."

"At Stanford?" Dean echoed.

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed. "Course, when he woke up, Sam wasn't really into talkin' about what happened and I didn't press it."

"You should've—!" Dean snapped, rage blinding him.

"Why?" Bobby pressed. "I hadn't seen the kid in, hell, four years? I wasn't about to go get involved in somethin' that Sam didn't want me to know about. Honestly Dean, I was just glad that he was talking to me again."

"What do you mean?" He asked, anger slowly fading away by the second.

"You weren't the only one who lost Sam the night he left." Bobby answered, a hint of sadness in his eyes. Dean frowned slightly as the implication of the gruff hunter's words hit him. He had never realized that when John had cut Sam out of his life that he had also inadvertently cut Sam out of everyone else's lives. Maybe Sam had thought that friends like Bobby and Pastor Jim were no longer his family because they had been acquaintances with John first. Dean grimaced. Sam must've felt so alone. And what had Dean been doing while Sam had been busy getting himself hurt hunting by himself? He had been too busy being angry and putting off calling his little brother because he was too damn stubborn. Sam had needed him and he hadn't been there—

"Stop." Bobby eyed him, clearly concerned. "He wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over it. It's in the past now."

"I could've done something—" Dean protested.

"He told me not to tell you about it," Bobby started, continuing on as if Dean had never spoke. "He said that you were busy and there was no point in telling you since he was better."

"Then, why are you telling me now?"

"Because I was sure that Sam was going to die that night," Bobby informed him shakily. "The injuries were so severe and the doctors were telling me that they had done all they could, but somehow, Sam beat the odds." The older hunter smiled proudly as he squeezed Sam's hand. "Just like he'll do now. We just need to be patient."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Dean's eyes shone brightly as he fought vainly against the tears that wanted to consume him. He had always hated being helpless, especially when it came to Sam. Sitting here and waiting, not being able to do anything to save his baby brother-it was his worst nightmare brought to life.

"Idjit." Bobby mumbled affectionately under his breath and Dean chuckled.

They both waited, the beeping and whirring of the machines filling the silence.

* * *

Awareness is a process.

It starts off gradually—a twitch of a finger, movement under the eyelids, a sudden deep breath—and it finally leads to full blown consciousness. It's a process that Dean has memorized by heart and has learned to recognize.

"Sammy?" He called, noticing the movement under Sam's eyelids. He smiled, clearly relieved as his brother struggled to awake. "C'mon, Sam, open those eyes for me, okay?" On the other side, Bobby remained silent, knowing that it wasn't his place to help Sam return to the land of the living—that was Dean's job and heaven forbid that Bobby try to get in-between Dean and his little brother. He shuddered just thinking about what kind of hell Dean could unleash given enough motivation and Sam was pretty damn good motivation.

"D'n?" Sam slurred, opening his eyes. He blinked a few times, as if he was trying to clear the blurriness out of his mind.

"Hey there, Sam," Dena greeted, beaming. "How you feeling?"

"Tired," The youngest Winchester mumbled, eyes shutting once more. "S'okay now?"

"Yeah," Dean assured him. "Everything's going to be okay now."

"Hurt?"

"No, I'm good, Sammy," Bobby smirked slightly. Leave it to Sam to worry exclusively about his big brother when he was the one in the hospital for blood loss. "You go back to sleep, okay?"

"D'n?"

"Yeah?"

"Dad?" Bobby's heart fell and instantly he glanced over at the eldest Winchester.

"He's not here, Sam," Dean replied and Bobby wondered just how many times he had said that exact same thing to a younger Sam. "But I've got you, okay? We're gonna be just fine, you hear me?"

"Okay." With that, Sam slid back to the realm of sleep and Dean slid back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

"You hear from—"

"No." Dean interjected, voice deadly.

Bobby let it drop.

* * *

A week later, Sam was discharged.

The doctors and nurses were calling it nothing short of a miracle, but Dean had scoffed at that. Truth was, Sam was just as stubborn as the rest of the Winchesters. He wouldn't be going down without one hell of a fight. Still, that didn't mean that Dean wouldn't be watching him like a hawk for the next few weeks. Yeah, Sam had recovered enough to be released, but he was still weak and a bit unsteady on his feet. Bobby had insisted the two come to stay with him until Sam was completely better and while they both had politely refused at first, they soon found themselves back in the spare bedroom they had shared so many times together as a child.

So, here they were—alive and on vacation. Their days were spent watching melodramatic Spanish soap operas, though sometimes Sam slept through them and Dean secretly watched _General Hospital_. Their nights were spent helping Bobby research and cleaning up after his failed attempts at home cooking. Last night, for example, Bobby had tried to make some grilled chicken and needless to say, that plan quickly flew out the window after he had set it on fire somehow. They stuck to TV dinners now.

It was on their third night there, while watching the end of a cheesy monster movie that Dean mentioned it.

"Were you hunting at Stanford?"

Sam's response was to choke on his popcorn and stare at Dean like he had grown another head.

"What?"

"Bobby told me that you got hurt—" Sam waved him off and sighed, acknowledging that there would be no point in denying this.

"I did one hunt," Sam told him quietly. "There was a vengeful spirit going after women in the dorms. I couldn't just ignore it—"

"Why the hell didn't you call for help then?" Dean growled, fury rising to the surface. "You don't go after spirits alone, Sam! Especially when you've been out of practice—"

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me." It was whispered so softly that Dean had almost missed it.

"What?"

"I didn't call you because I thought you wanted me out of your life."

That admission stunned Dean to no end. His mouth fell open, almost in comedic shock. He couldn't believe he was hearing this—Sam had thought he had wanted nothing to do with him? What the hell was this?

"Who the hell gave you that idea?" Dean growled, ready to knock some sense into his baby brother and then go dish out some revenge on whoever was responsible for this.

"Dad."

Stunned silence.

"Come again?"

"I, uh, called your phone," Sam explained, running a hand through his hair, almost as if he was admitting to doing something wrong. "And he answered. Told me that you never wanted to speak to me again. Then, he hung up."

"Sam—"

"And, I know, I should've just ignored him, but I hadn't heard from you in awhile and I thought . . ." His voice trailed off. "I don't know, I thought that maybe Dad had been right."

"And then you did the hunt." Dean completed, forcing his voice to be calm. Rage wouldn't do any good right now. It wouldn't solve anything.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "And it got the drop on me. I was able to salt and burn it though, but I don't remember much after that." He shrugged slightly. "The next thing I remember is waking up at the hospital with Bobby being there." Dean absorbed his brother's words and controlled his anger. Sam was okay now—that was what mattered. Dad . . . they would deal with him later. Dean was definitely going to get that straightened out. For now, Sam was alive and Sam was with him. That's what mattered.

"Listen," Dean began, meeting Sam's gaze. "I will always be there to help you out, okay? Promise me you'll remember that."

"Dean—"

"Promise, Sammy."

Sam chuckled softly. This reminded him of their childhood—_Promise me that you'll stay by my side, Sammy. Promise that you'll call me if you need me, Sam. Promise—_and it made the youngest Winchester smile.

"I promise." Dean shot him a grin and then they turned their focus back to the TV.

"And dude, next time, we're going with my plan." His older brother informed him.

"What plan?" Sam questioned. "Run in, ask questions later?"

"Exactly." Dean assured him.

And Sam laughed for the first time in a long time. Yeah, his girlfriend had been killed by a demon, their father was missing, and he might have weird visions, but for this one second—this brief moment in time—nothing else mattered aside from him and Dean.

As long as he had Dean by his side, Sam knew they could handle anything.

Anything at all.

* * *

_** Author's Note: **__The end! I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you so much for everything! Just a quick note, the hunt that Sam did at Stanford will probably be getting its own story soon, so please be on the lookout for that. Anyways, I'd love to hear what you thought of the final chapter. Please review! _


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